


Fat Cats

by nursehelena



Series: Hearts & Guts 2015 [2]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Dethwedding Coda, Gen, Motherklok Coda, Rehabklok Coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 18:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3619464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nursehelena/pseuds/nursehelena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Seth proves himself capable of handling the situation in Australia, Charles tentatively considers him an ally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fat Cats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elendraug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elendraug/gifts).



“Heh. Hey you, whatever your name is. Chief, is that what Pickles calls you?”  
  
“What is it?” Babysitting Seth while setting him and Amber up in Sydney wasn't much different than anything Charles was used to, although he kept a very close eye on his wallet. He'd quickly developed a habit of grazing his fingertips against its impression inside his breast pocket. Seth seemed to be watching him every single time.   
  
“How big's the back of your office chair?”  
  
“Ah, pardon me?”  
  
“You got an office, right?” Seth smiled crookedly not unlike his brother, though not nearly as endearingly. “And you got a chair you sit in, where you make all those important phone calls, and shit? How high is the back?”  
  
“May I ask why you're curious?”  
  
“Heh, no wonder Pickles can't stand you. Can you give a straight answer, Fat Cat?”  
  
Charles quelled a surge of annoyance by briefly closing his eyes. “I don't know the exact measurement.”  
  
“Bigger or smaller than this?”  
  
“Perhaps a little bigger.”  
  
“Is there room in my budget to get a new chair, then?”  
  
“That's not my job to know. Why don't you consult your financial team?”  
  
“Suppose I could do that. Think they'd move some money around for me? Heh.”  
  
This was such a mistake. Charles definitely put Pickles' well-being before Australia's. Getting Seth away from the heart of the company couldn't be understated in importance. Would Seth last any longer than the previous head of Dethklok Australia, or would he meet a similar end? What happened at that point, to Amber? Pickles' nephew? Perhaps Charles extrapolated out of pure habit, but he'd diverted plenty of disasters by doing so. One of the biggest dangers to Dethklok was Pickles' weakness for family and Seth's complementary greediness. Out here in the peripheral vision of Dethklok's forward momentum, any screw-ups would remain isolated. If Seth ruined this country, its aftershock wouldn't reach the United States' shores. If Seth bled anything dry, it'd paint only himself into a corner.   
  
Seth stood behind his new desk. “But for real, man, this is gonna be such a sick opportunity for me to provide for my family. Means a lot, that you'd offer this to me. Or Pickles, whoever.”  
  
“You're, ah, very welcome.” Charles suppressed the habitual necessity to lecture about responsibility, or to praise Seth for aiming so high goal-wise. While Charles assumed position as the boys' parental figure, he couldn't do the same for Seth. Seth's parents stood behind him. More crucially than that, Seth seemed at times to defy their influence and project outwardly into the world, not unlike a snake. Keeping that aspect of Seth's personality in mind, Charles eyed him with a hint of suspicion as he neared.   
  
Seth's arms widened as if to admit Charles, but a minute glance toward Charles' breast pocket alerted him toward true intention. “Bring it in here, Chief.”  
  
“Ah, no thank you. I'm not a hugger.”

* * *

 

Charles mixed some BC Powder into a cup of water when the phone rang yet again. The press had learned about Pickles landing in Malevolent Creation following the Mozambique show, and since they couldn't reach  _him_  about it, Charles was always the second contact even though his track record of indulging such curiosities was slim to none. 

  
“Offdensen.” Prepared to immediately hang up, Charles mentally rehearsed the statement he always made whenever he didn't care to comment on the boys' various issues. However, a familiar snicker on the other end caused him pause.   
  
“Hey, Chief. Seth here. So what's this I hear about my little screw-up brother landing himself in rehab, huh? Heh.”  
  
Charles hesitated; Pickles hadn't said anything about alerting his family, embarrassed enough by this turn of events. Still, he couldn't exactly deny what the media reported. “I, ah, suppose that would be true.”  
  
“Damn, man. What the fuck happened?”  
  
“It's rehab, Seth.”  
  
“Yeah, I'm not a fuckin' moron, I just thought he had a good handle on all that shit. Always seemed to, when we were kids.”  
  
Concerned phone calls from the family were a normal phenomenon, although not for Dethklok. In the silence that followed, Charles attempted to discern just why exactly Seth called, because it wasn't strictly out of concern. What did he stand to gain? None of Pickles' money would come his way if for some reason his little brother died. Did Seth just want confirmation from somewhere other than television or radio? Was he himself embarrassed for the family name? Did his mother put him up to this? Molly didn't talk to Charles anymore if it could be helped, after a couple locking-of-horns in past.   
  
“He, ah. . .” Charles cleared his throat. “If he hadn't caused so much structural damage as result of his drinking, the outcome may have been different. It's been my opinion for some time that he could learn to use some restraint with drugs and alcohol.”  
  
“Heh, you kiddin'? He's always been good about that shit. Drinks like a fuckin' fish, but fish live in water. Actually made him fuckin' better, you know?”  
  
“Is there a specific reason you called?” Charles' headache throbbed away between his temples, and he looked forward to tending to it. So far, he'd sipped his BC Powder into an empty glass and he neared turning the lights out for a short break. It never failed, though; whether a ringing phone or upset band members, something always cut those short.   
  
“That's my little brother, man. Fuckin' sucks, to see him not doing very well.” No hint of that regret could be heard in Seth's voice. “You talked to him at all?”  
  
“I've tried. He's. . .not very open to me, at the moment. I won't go get him.”  
  
“Heh. He can be a spoiled brat, sometimes.” Bit rich, coming from Seth. “Doesn't know what's fuckin' good for him.”  
  
“Dunno about you, but I gotta get back to work,” Seth segued before silence could descend upon their conversation. “This well-greased machine doesn't run itself, and all that bullshit. Heh.”  
  
“Right.” Charles paused. “That's all going well, then?”  
  
“You saw my fuckin' numbers, Fat Cat.”  
  
“Ah, yes, I did. Congratulations on your surplus.”  
  
“Thanks. And let me know if Pickles needs anything, yeah?”  
  
Surely, that wouldn't come without a price. “Of course.”

* * *

 

“. . .As you know, Pickles has gotten rather adept at being a realtor, and I worry that if he continues to try and gain his mother's approval, it could interfere with the future of Dethklok. One cannot serve two masters, Nathan. One cannot serve two masters.”

  
“Yeah. . .” Nathan trailed off with a grumble. “That's a tricky one.”  
  
When he moved along, Charles was left alone in overseeing this particular segment of the Dethfair. It might not be fine, as he and Nathan had both asserted. If Pickles discovered a job that fulfilled his need to exist off the celebrity radar (especially considering the stigma attached to that particular label, lately), he might not wish to return to Mordhaus with the rest of them. Normally, all the usual factors in Wisconsin would quickly set Pickles straight, should he ever romanticize his home-state; Cal would remind him that he belonged in a garbage can, and Molly would shriek about how great Seth, Amber, and Cal Jr. faired.   
  
However, the latter factor didn't come. Charles couldn't believe it any more than Pickles when he heard that for quite possibly the first time, Seth didn't have Molly's approval. Australia's upper class experienced the same divide as America's, soaring well above the working class. Seth contributed similarly to the bad economy, and his love for money forbade him from abiding by any of his mother's squawking.   
  
A divide still existed between the two brothers, though, and Charles was curious as to why that was. Why did Pickles feel compelled to try and impress his mother via this avenue, when Seth remained immune to her upturned nose? Ever since handing Pickles his real estate license, Charles had procrastinated on making an overseas call. Hesitation needed to end if he wanted the answers he sought so fruitlessly.  
  
“Yo what's up, you've reached Seth's office. He's not here. Heh. Leave a message.”  
  
“Ah, morning Seth, this is Charles Offdensen—”  
  
“Chill Fat Cat, I'm here.” Seth chuckled. “Did I ever get you fuckin' good, huh?”  
  
“Hm. Well, I'm glad I caught you. Do you have a moment to speak?” Free arm crossed, Charles toed pebbles on his trajectory away from where the klokateers steadily worked on the nearest ride. “I trust you've heard about the Dethfair, yes?”  
  
“Little Cal won't quit askin' if we can go. Heh.” Fresh echo alerted Charles that he'd been placed on speakerphone. “Sure, yeah, I know about it. What the fuck's all this about Pickles doin' real estate? Thought it was a fuckin' joke.”  
  
“It's not, and that's what I'm calling about.” Charles cleared his throat. “I'm not one to pry into family affairs beyond what is necessary, so I hope you'll excuse me inquiring. I'm concerned that, if Pickles should finally gain your mother's approval, he might stay in Tomahawk rather than return to Mordhaus with the band.”  
  
“I don't mind at all. I can fuckin' respect that, man, Pickles is your fuckin' paycheck. I'd do the same.”  
  
Charles didn't like being compared to Seth in such a way, but correction would do no good in his quest for answers. “Molly mentioned something the other day about both her sons disappointing her.”  
  
“Did she, now?” Seth didn't sound particularly wounded over it. Mildly amused, in fact.  
  
“Ah, yes. Any insight, on how to fix this problem?”  
  
“If it's any consolation, he ain't gonna earn her approval. Doesn't matter what he fuckin' does, heh. She's set in her ways. Seems that the only one who can't do nothin' wrong anymore is Little Cal. Love of her fuckin' heart, and all that shit.”  
  
“I suppose Pickles' inherent inability to make your mother proud will always be reliable.” Charles hated that for him. Molly's lack of a favourite son didn't entirely equate to the position being open for grabs. Even if it did, it obviously already closed.   
  
“It's gonna fuck him up, though. Always does.” Seth chuckled, breezing off any remaining hint of fraternal concern. “I know exactly what he's gotta do—what he's  _always_  needed to do, but he won't hear it from me. Would you pass on a little fuckin' message, my contribution to brotherly love?”  
  
“I could.”  
  
“Tell him he needs to tell Mom to go fuck herself.” Seth paused. “But remember, you didn't fuckin' hear that from me. He's still pissed about having to pay for my forgiveness. And he needs to do this by his own accord anyway, if he wants to be free from those regular jack-offs. Heh.”  
  
“I'll see how helpful that is.” Already, Charles scanned the grounds for any sign that Pickles was in vicinity. “Ah, thank you, Seth.”  
  
“No problem, Fat Cat. Enjoy your little fair, heh.”


End file.
